


the long way around

by iserlohn (lincesque)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 13:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn
Summary: alex caselnes, future ph.d, and the terrible, bad, worse day from hell.(college au)





	the long way around

**Author's Note:**

> i would say 'in my defense' - but i actually don't have any ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> set in the same verse as my [reuyang college ficlet](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com/post/176383128172/hums-thoughtfully-i-was-meant-to-sleep-like-6), which is again, is an au of my [schonyang fic](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com/post/176339850652/quick-ficlet-for-schonkopfs-birthday-very) to celebrate schonkopf's birthday :D
> 
> actually. in my defense, i'm just trying out new things ok lel. sorry about the characterisations, oh wait - there are NONE.

*

 

Caselnes is having a terrible day to say the least.

He had been up late preparing a presentation for another class and then subsequently overslept, ending up over fifteen minutes late to his first TA class, out of breath and feeling like he was about to die because he jogged half the way there.

To make things worse, it had started raining just after lunch and he hadn’t brought his umbrella despite a fellow TA’s reminder and his car was still being repaired after last week’s accident so he couldn’t even leave campus until it let up.

Then, like the cherry on top of a very shitty pie, he receives an email from his supervisor that evening in regards to his thesis draft. He’s requested to revise sections four to eight much more thoroughly, basically another two months of work.

He types a generic thank you message back to his supervisor and then exits the post-grad computer lab, beginning the thirty minute trek back home, in the dark, bag slung over one shoulder and scowling. The rain had finally stopped barely an hour ago and the weather bureau hadn’t anticipated for anything more than a brief shower for the rest of the night.

The nights are fairly cold now though, edging into winter finally, and he does his best to keep his steps brisk and fast so as to not completely freeze, since he hadn’t thought ahead and was only clad only in a thin jacket over a long sleeved shirt and jeans.

Caselnes is almost home, just turning up the street to his apartment complex, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket trying to locate his house keys, when he sees a familiar silhouette maybe ten meters before him. He’d recognise Schonkopf anywhere, and one of the first smiles of the day lifts the edges of his mouth as he starts moving just a little bit faster in order to catch up with Schonkopf.

The next moment, however, he stops, when another familiar figure joins Schonkopf on the sidewalk. It’s Yang and he’s buried beneath what looks like two thick winter jackets and wearing a beanie pulled low over his hair. Caselnes watches, frozen in place, as Schonkopf pulls off the scarf from around his own neck and winds it around Yang’s instead, tucking it beneath a jacket carefully before smoothing a hand down the front of Yang’s chest in a casually familiar way.

They walk on ahead, close enough that their shoulders brush with every step, both of them seemingly comfortable with the negligible distance between them. Neither of them turn back far enough to notice Caselnes just standing in the middle of the street, watching them with a complicated feeling twisting within his chest.

Logically, Caselnes knows that it’s not like he and Schonkopf had an official arrangement, sharing literally nothing more than a quick fix of physical intimacy with someone convenient without any strings attached. It doesn’t help the sudden taste of sour betrayal that coats his throat as he swallows.

“It’s too hard trying to keep a girlfriend,” Schonkopf had said to him after the first time they had ended up in bed together, inhaling from a cigarette held casually between two fingers as he leaned on Caselnes’ balcony.

It had been in the middle of summer then and warm enough that he was comfortably barefoot and shirtless, only wearing a pair of Caselnes’ largest pajama pants slung low on his hips.

Caselnes had pulled on a shirt and a pair of shorts in order to join him, staying a safe ten, fifteen centimeters away even as he had held his hand out for the smoke.

Schonkopf had given it to him with a smirk, gaze sweeping him up and down a few times as Caselnes ignored him, inhaling deeply from the cigarette, exhaling with a soft plume of smoke and feeling the nicotine sink into his system like a long lost friend. He had quit just before starting his doctorate, but sometimes, he definitely missed it enough to sneak one or two when no one was looking.

From then on, they had ended up naked together more often than not, always with Schonkopf in the lead. It would often be just for a couple of hours during the late afternoon or early evening, just long enough for both of them to get off before Schonkopf showered and left, never sticking around for more than a cup of coffee afterwards.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Caselnes had said to him sometime after the sixth or seventh time, just as Schonkopf was getting dressed, pulling on his tight v-neck tee with his jeans still hanging dangerously low, belt not yet buckled. Schonkopf’s muscles almost seemed to flex and gleam under the dim lamplight when he moved, his carelessly tousled hair only adding to the general look of debauchery.

It was a good look on him, Caselnes had thought then, tucking himself back into the warm sheets, on the cleaner side of the bed, covers drawn up enough to cover everything below his waist. He sat up against the headboard, eyes following Schonkopf almost of their own volition as he padded around the room, feet still bare.

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that whatever they were doing actually meant something to Schonkopf, who could have basically any partner with just an easy crook of a finger. But after a long time of just being alone, Caselnes had found that more recently, he was definitely starting to think about how much of a possibility there was in making this thing between Schonkopf and himself more permanent.

There were moments when Schonkopf had leaned in to kiss him lightly afterwards, or when he brushed his lips against Caselnes’ cheek before he left for the night that had made Caselnes think that maybe there was still some hope for him after all.

But now, seeing Schonkopf and Yang together and the gentle way that Schonkopf had treated him, utterly different from how he always interacted with Caselnes himself, that tiny flame of hope extinguishes itself.

Eventually though, it gets too cold and Caselnes finally rouses himself out of his thoughts, shaking his head sharply from side to side once to snap himself out of it. He moves slightly numb legs and continues on his way back to his apartment, his feet tracing the familiar path without any direct input from his mind.

If that’s the case, if Schonkopf is serious about Yang, he thinks, closing his eyes briefly as he tries to ignore the pain echoing in his chest even as he takes the final few stairs up to his third level apartment, then maybe it’s best to make a clean break sooner rather than later.

Caselnes’ feet slow and then comes to a full stop when he reaches the top of the staircase and he opens his eyes to see Schonkopf leaning against the wall next to his apartment door, hands tucked into the pockets of his thick leather jacket, breath misting in the night air.

“Evening,” Schonkopf says when he sees Caselnes and his eyes crinkle into a smile even as he pushes himself fully upright. When Caselnes doesn’t move, standing as if glued to the concrete beneath his shoes, Schonkopf tilts his head somewhat quizzically and walks over to where Caselnes is instead.

His hands are taken into Schonkopf’s own and there’s a frown that slowly settles into the crease of his brows when he notices how cold Caselnes’ fingers are. Schonkopf’s hands are so warm, even without his scarf, Caselnes thinks as he looks at the open collar of Schonkopf’s jacket.

“Did you walk home?” he asks, somewhat incredulously as he rubs a little at Caselnes’ hands, trapping them between his own slightly larger ones, trying to generate a little warmth.

“My car’s still at the shop and I had class today,” Caselnes mutters in his own defense, looking down and away from Schonkopf’s eyes and also forcing his gaze away from their joined hands, the unpleasant feeling curling around his stomach tightens abruptly.

Schonkopf pulls him along, basically dragging him towards Caselnes’ own apartment door.

“You could’ve called me for a ride. I know for a fact you have my number,” he says, voice tight, and he sounds a little off, the barest hints of something that could be anger in his tone.

Caselnes jerks out of Schonkopf’s grasp, stalking past him and over to his own door. He shoves his hand into his pocket for his keys, angry in a way that he can’t quite explain as he unlocks the security door and then his actual front door with sharp, jerky movements, breathing a little harshly.

What right did Schonkopf have to lecture Caselnes when they aren’t even anything more than friends, if even that? What right did he have to be waiting here outside Caselnes’ door, acting like he honestly expects Caselnes to let him into his home and back into his bed after he had witnessed him out and about with another man, especially when the other person is someone that Caselnes counts as a close friend?

There’s the barest prickle of something hot against the corners of his eyes and he blinks hard, as he shoves open his front door with his eyes down, not wanting to seem weak.

Yang is the only one who’s truly innocent in all this and Caselnes doesn’t have it in him to hurt him in any way, even by proxy.

“Get out,” he tells Schonkopf when he automatically follows Caselnes into his apartment. He doesn’t look over at him, just raises a hand and points at the door, voice hard. “Now.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you,” Schonkopf says.

From the corner of his eyes, Caselnes can see how Schonkopf still has the gall to plant his feet in the hallway and cross his arms, staring down at him.

Enough is enough, Caselnes thinks as he spins around and glares at him, finally looking back up with his chin tilted and blue eyes narrowed.

“I’m done with this,” he snaps, fingers tightening into fists by his side, too incensed to actually feel the pain when his blunt nails bite into his palm. “I’m done with you appearing in my life at your own leisure like I somehow owe you.”

“I’m not a toy for you, I’m not here at your every beck and call. I’m not just a convenient body for when you want a quick fuck without strings attached,” Caselnes tells him, blunt and angry and fighting back the tears that burn at the edges of his eyes, threatening to fall. “I want you to get out of my life, I don’t need you.”

Schonkopf is staring at him, something unreadable in his eyes as silence falls between them, broken only by Caselnes’ too-loud inhales and exhales for one long moment.

“Alex,” Schonkopf says softly after an indeterminate period of time, taking just one step forward, hand outstretched as if he wants to touch him. “You don’t owe me anything.”

It’s honestly the first time that Caselnes has heard his first name fall from those lips and he can’t help it when he closes his eyes and the tears do fall. He turns away abruptly to hide his face, stepping back out of reach again.

“Then, can you just leave?” he says and his voice is barely audible, sounding tired and defeated even to his own ears.

“No, I really can’t.”

Caselnes barely has time to comprehend that short sentence before Schonkopf’s hands are around his wrists and he’s being pushed back against the hallway wall. Schonkopf’s grey eyes are blazing but his fingers are gentle when he raises one hand to cup Caselnes’ cheek with his long fingers.

“Do you hate me?” he asks, voice low and hoarse and Caselnes sees the hard jerk of his throat when he swallows, brows still furrowed, and at that moment, it almost seems like his answer really actually matters.

Caselnes laughs then and it sounds more like a sob than a laugh but he’s beyond caring at this point. “I hate you so much,” he says when he can finally catch his breath a little, inhaling with quick little breaths that cause his body to shudder a little with the force of it all. “You waltz into my life just like that and then the next thing I know is that I’ve fallen in love with -”

He stops himself, horrified, but it’s much too late.

Schonkopf’s eyes are wide as he stares down at Caselnes. It’s the first time he’s seen Schonkopf so off-guard and a part of him celebrates this minor victory even as the rest of him wants to sink into the wall and disappear off the face of the earth at his unintended confession.

“You’re in love with me,” Schonkopf says and Caselnes feels the heat crawl across his cheeks and curl around his ears from embarrassment and shame. Out of everything he didn’t want Schonkopf to know, these inappropriate feelings of his are at the very top of that list.

However, right now Caselnes feels so damnably bone tired that he really doesn’t have it in him to even try to refute the comment. At the same time though, he also doesn’t want to give Schonkopf the satisfaction in having him say that cursed phrase out loud again.

“Please, just go,” he says instead and leans his full weight against the wall behind his back, lifting his free arm and pressing the sleeve of his jacket against his eyes, both to wipe up the tears and cover his expression. He already felt too exposed like this, put on display in front of Schonkopf by his own stupidity.

“Alex, look at me, please,” Schonkopf says softly, his hand still warm against his wrist, pulling his arm down and holding it there, staring down at Caselnes until he finally had nowhere else to look except up at Schonkopf, meeting his gaze once more.

“What do you want?” Caselnes asks finally, tonelessly, shoulders slumped against the wall. His eyes feel dry and hot and gritty and he keeps having to blink hard every couple of seconds to try and rid himself of that uncomfortable feeling. He’s at Schonkopf’s mercy now, his feelings plastered out on display to be scrutinised and inevitably rejected.

Schonkopf remains standing too close, fingers tight and warm around Caselnes’ chilled skin. He just looks at him, grey eyes unreadable. “Do you hate me?” he repeats, voice gentle and soothing as if he’s trying to calm a skittish animal, thumb rubbing repeatedly over the rapidfire beat of Caselnes’ unsteady pulse.

“I can’t,” Caselnes tells him, honest. “I want to, I really do, but I can’t because -” He cuts himself off again and shakes his head.

“Just treat Yang well, okay?” Caselnes says, dropping his gaze again and looking down towards the floor, eyes fixing themselves on the neat, black laces of Schonkopf’s boots. “He’s one of my closest friends and I don’t want to see him -”

“Yang?” Schonkopf’s brows draw downwards sharply in confusion, interrupting him halfway. “What does Yang have anything to do with this?”

Caselnes glares at him. “Don’t think I didn’t see you two together before. You gave him your scarf -”

There’s a dawning look of comprehension in Schonkopf’s eyes before he actually has the audacity to start laughing, that bastard. His low chuckles sound close to Caselnes’ ear, which is brushed with warmth whenever Schonkopf exhales softly.

“Sorry,” he says and his smile is a gentle curve when he draws back a little to look down at Caselnes, eyes fond. “That scarf was his, to begin with. We had a study session at the local library because the on campus one was too busy.”

“My coach spoke to the head of social science and requested a tutor for me. Yang was the recommendation,” Schonkopf says as his lips pull into a wry sort of grimace, the expression a little ashamed. “If I fail my final elective, I’m gonna be benched from the team before the second half of the season.”

Caselnes meets his gaze, searching his face for any hint of a lie and coming up empty, eyebrows rising. “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly, a slow curl of amusement replacing the distance aching pain for a moment. “They assigned Yang to tutor you so that you can continue to kick a ball?”

“Hey, the college championships are serious business, alright,” Schonkopf tells him mock-stern, leaning in, arms bracketing Caselnes entirely, weight braced up against the wall next to either side of his head.

There’s a sort of hesitant silence that falls between them then when they realise the very minimal space they have separating them. Schonkopf doesn’t seem inclined to back away and Caselnes feels like he’s frozen in place, unable to move.

The two of them end up staring at each other, not quite sure where exactly to go from here. Schonkopf’s smile dims slowly, but his eyes are still warm, almost soft.

“You remember that day when we met?” Schonkopf says abruptly after a couple of moments, changing the topic out of the blue and watching Caselnes until he nodded slowly.

Caselnes remembers the day quite clearly indeed - he was almost ten months into his Ph.D. and had finally surfaced after almost half a year of doing nothing but writing out the draft of his dissertation, plan the beginning stages of his research and just managing to juggle TA duties on top.

It was Poplin who had introduced them, in fact, and Caselnes had only known Poplin originally because of Yang, who moved in some strange circles indeed.

Poplin had apparently expanded their friend circle to include Schonkopf along with two of his friends during the period where Caselnes had been too busy to hang out with the group.

He remembers turning up to Poplin’s apartment for their annual Christmas party, his first free night for way too long, finally finished with marking semester end exams and buoyed high by his supervisor’s approval of his research topic.

He had knocked on the familiar door with its peeling, faded green paint, already able to hear the faint pump of the bass from Poplin’s second-hand sound system even from outside. He had smirked, because nothing really seemed to have changed, including the way that no one ever bothered to answer the door. He was just about to fish out his phone to text for someone to open the door when it had swung open on its own accord.

Caselnes had looked up and been struck basically mute as Schonkopf stood there before him, an unfamiliar face at that point, tall enough to even tower over him, leather jacket, tight shirt, and even tighter jeans, one hand braced casually against the doorframe.

Caselnes had stared, probably for too long, until Schonkopf had smirked, leaning into his personal space. “Like what you see?” he had asked then, smooth, low voice sounding absolutely sinful.

However, Caselnes had put up with the terrible duo of Poplin and Attenborough and their dubious antics for way too many years and had replied on instinct, finally shaking himself out of his stupor and pushing past Schonkopf without a second look. “You wish you were good enough for me,” he had said then.

He had spent the rest of that night blatantly ignoring Schonkopf despite the many attempts that were made to engage him in conversation. Caselnes recalled that he had been mostly concerned that he might utterly embarrass himself if he actually spoke more than a single sentence to Schonkopf than for any other reason.

Thinking back to then, Caselnes sudden realises that his feelings for Schonkopf probably, definitely, originated from that one night and from that first instant when he had seen him.

His twist of Schonkopf’s smile is a little self-deprecating when he leans in even closer, resting their foreheads gently together, eyes shadowed by memories. “I remember, you know, from the very start, you wanted nothing to do with me. I actually lost count of how many times I had to _accidentally_  run into you on and off campus before you acknowledged my existence.” Schonkopf shakes his head with a small sigh. “I still owe Poplin and Attenborough favours for that.”

With that one throw away comment, Caselnes finally solves the mystery of how Schonkopf had managed to find him no matter where he was for the first couple of months. He had both cursed and blessed his luck back then whenever Schonkopf had taken a seat at his table when the coffee shop was too full or when he just happened to be heading into the library whenever Caselnes had booked a study room during his free period.

“From the moment I saw you, standing there and completely unimpressed, I knew that I was going to fall for you,” Schonkopf says, low and serious, words almost an echo of Caselnes’ own thoughts just moments earlier. For his part, Caselnes can’t help the way his eyes widen at those words.

Schonkopf’s fingers smooth over his cheek, keeping his face tilted up towards himself.

“I only started sleeping with you because that’s all I thought you would let me have, and I told myself that it was worth being able to hold you for those few short moments even if I had to always walk away afterwards,” he continues and Caselnes’ heart thrums unsteadily in his chest, each beat faster than the last.

Caselnes inhales a little shakily and lets his eyes fall shut and tilts his face upwards even as Schonkopf leans down again.

The kiss is nothing more than a soft brush of lips, chaste and soft and tender as Schonkopf murmurs, “You were never just a convenience to me, Alex. You’re so much more.”

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like everyone i write is in sad, mutual pining from the get go - but i guess this is the sort of thing i like reading so ha.
> 
> hit me up on [tumblr](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com/) ♥


End file.
